


Oof: Oz's Big Mood

by crab_noises



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Arson, BIG MOOD, Established Relationship, Gen, Highkey based Vicky off of my friend, I make like three Heathers jokes, Liam de Lioncourt/Green | Brian (Mentioned), Non-Binary Oz, Other, Oz is half anxiety and half sex drive, Polly Geist/Red | Amira (Mentioned), Scott Howl/Blue | VIcky (Mentioned), Side note I would DIE for Damien, The phobias... they got names, pre-prom, she romanced Scott too, that shit? canon, yeah he writes poetry on tinder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-18 23:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14862702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crab_noises/pseuds/crab_noises
Summary: How do you ask Damien LaVey to prom? Hell if Oz knows.





	1. Go to Hell... Please

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I wish there was more content for Monster Prom  
> Me to me: MAKE the content, then  
> Me: ........

Oz waltzed their way to the bathrooms, to skip class with seemingly unabashed bravado; in reality, the sheer amount of anxiety in their metaphorical veins was almost crippling. Prom was fast approaching, and they  _ still  _ hadn't made the move to ask a certain pyromaniac to go. Oz sighed once they had made it, head in their hands, while a phobia or two busied themselves with their hair. At this point, they didn't bother to fix the dorkish mop of hair, too busy contemplating why the _ fuck  _ they haven't asked Damien to prom yet.

Oz and Damien were definitely dating, to the point of calling each other “boyfriend” and “significant annoyance.” The real issue Oz had was that this was merely a high school relationship, one that they assumed wouldn't go far. Sure, they’ve done plenty of intimate things together: discussed the sexual habits of dolphins, made out in the bathroom, and created what was dubbed "Arson: Hard Mode” (which was basically the same as typical arson, but set to music). And while it  _ was _ difficult to get a cathedral crumbling to ashes in only four minutes and thirteen seconds, Oz found that asking a simple question would be their relationship’s toughest obstacle.

Apiphobia, the small blob on Oz’s left shoulder, proudly brandished a comb in reference to their handiwork. Oz simply pushed their hair back to its “natural-but-not-really” state, much to Api’s distaste.

“How many times do I have to tell you,” Oz muttered, somehow, despite having a visible mouth, “to  _ stop  _ messing with my hair?”

Suddenly, a hand came out of nowhere to tousle Oz’s hair, and the fearling yelped.

“I do what I want, babe.” Damien LaVey him-fucking-self said with a smirk.

Speak of the devil, and he appears. Well, not the devil (one of many), but a demon. Specifically, Oz’s demon boyfriend. The saying really should be “Speak of Oz’s demon boyfriend, the prince of hell, and he appears.”

Api sprang to work again on Oz’s hair, and they just let it happen. “I was talking to my phobia, Damien. Honestly, I trust you to do my hair more than myself.”

The demon chuckled, and flashed a toothy grin. “‘Cause I’m the best fucking stylist Hell’s ever seen!”

“Hell yeah you are!” Oz cheered, and another phobia popped up to join in. Pyrophobia had taken quite the liking to Damien, so much that Oz decided to name them accordingly.

Damien gave Pyro a little fist-bump. The phobia blushed ( _ blushed?  _ Oz didn't know they could do that!), and sank back into Oz’s body.

“Speaking of Hell,” Damien cleared his throat, “I wanna take you there. Show you around, maybe get food, and stop by my house? I know, Hell’s lame, except for this one club, it's like a strip club, but the strippers are literally stripping the skin off of the damned…”

Damien went on and on about the super niche places in Hell he found cool, like the Blood Dome and the Lake of Knives, but all Oz did was internally jump for joy. Clearly, if  _ Damien _ was inviting  _ Oz  _ home, it meant that  _ he  _ would ask  _ them _ to prom! No more worries or half-assed plans. Their skin was clear. Their crops were thriving. Oz could find peace now.

“...so? You coming or not?” Oz snapped back to reality, where their boyfriend’s outstretched hand waited. They took it and nodded, and the corners of their eyes turned up. It was the best smile Oz could make, given the whole mouthless deal.

“Great! I can't wait to take you, this weekend’s gonna be so fuckin’ metal!”

If Oz had a physical heart, it would've dropped to their physical stomach. “Wait,  _ this _ weekend?!”

Damien frowned, and clenched the fist that wasn't Oz-occupied. “Yeah?”

“Is… I-Isn't prom this weekend?”

“Since when did you give a shit about prom?” Damien let go of Oz’s hand and eyed them while his tail flicked from side to side. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was upset.

Oz, being the suckup they were, tried to save himself and stay cool in Damien’s eyes. “I-I-I don't! Of course I don't, wh-who gives a shit about prom!? Not me! I think prom’s fucking lame, e-even I could throw a better party than  _ that!” _ Oz took a deep breath. Pyro peeked up from their shoulder. “It's just, I, well, I didn't know if prom was your kind of thing or not. Uh… yeah.”

Damien blinked a few times before he glanced at the fearling, who shrugged. The demon shook his head, arms crossed. “I don't care. But, since nobody asked you, and nobody asked me, I thought we'd just hang out or some shit instead.” Damien smiled for the briefest of moments before his face fell again.  He stepped forward to hold Oz’s hips, and with an edge of anger, asked, “Nobody asked you to prom, right?”

“No way,” Oz huffed a sigh of relief and went to hug their boyfriend, head on his chest, “and if they did, I'd kick their ass.”

“You mean  _ I’d  _ kick their ass!” Damien teased.

“We would  _ both  _ kick their ass!” Oz resolved, and earned a chuckle from Damien. They felt it resonate through his chest: rough, deep, almost like a growl; Oz found comfort in it.

“Hey, babe,” Damien mumbled after a few minutes, “You're like, really fucking cool. You deserve to go to Hell.” Oz took a second to realize that, yes, that was supposed to be a compliment. Before they could even think of what to say, Damien kissed the top of their head in an oddly gentle fashion. He released the fearling, but gave them a warning: “Tell anyone about that and I'll rip your face off, got it?”

Oz rolled their eyes, but agreed for Damien’s sake. He'd never admit it, but the demon was a total romantic. That could be, in part, thanks to his dads, but Oz thought Damien deserved some credit, too. He wrote incredible prose pieces on his Tinder account, and even composed a few poems just for Oz. Even though he'd developed a more toxically masculine façade, Oz was close enough with him to know it was just that: a façade. Damien was a sweet guy; he was a violent asshole and an arsonist, too, but a sweet guy nonetheless.

The lunch bell rang, along with it a harsh reminder of Oz’s mission. That heart-plummeting feeling overcame them once more as the fearling realized Damien would  _ not  _ be asking them to prom, and might outright refuse to go with them if they  _ did  _ ask.

Damien slid an arm around Oz’s waist and a hand down their back pocket. They left the bathrooms together, and while Damien tossed around ideas for the weekend, Oz’s thoughts were fixated on something entirely different:

They couldn't ask their beloved to prom. At least, not without help from their three best friends.


	2. Vicky Really Likes Heathers, I Guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Obligatory Player Characters Interaction Chapter

“Flowers? He likes flowers, right?”

“You could blow up the school, just like J.D. in Heathers!”

“J.D. isn’t a good example, Vick.”

“Here's a hot take:  _ just ask _ . Be real with him!”

Oz buried their face in their hands. They'd cut cutting class with Damien to seek help from the three monsters they trusted most: Vicky, Brian, and Amira. The fearling’s friends were just as hopeless as they were; yet, they had secured dates for prom well before Oz. They  _ had  _ to know something that Oz didn't.

“Okay, okay, you know what?” They swiftly cut their friends off, “Forget it. He doesn't want to go to prom, anyways.”

“...Are you sure about that?” Brian raised a rotting eyebrow. “Even Liam’s going. You know how much he hates the mainstream.”

“Th-that's different!” Oz countered, but didn't bother to back their claim up.

“Well, do you know why Damien doesn't want to go?” Vicky asked with a quizzical expression. She listed off each potential reason, counted from her fingers: “He could be busy with princey things, going to a funeral, going to a birthday, maybe both? Ooh, what if he's in some sort of underground fight club, and doesn't want you to know?”

“Actually, Vicky,” Amira interrupted with a cheeky smirk, “there  _ is  _ no Fight Club.”

“What!? How do you know?”

“That's the first rule of Fight Club!”

“ _ Amira! _ ”

“Guys...” Oz fidgeted with the edge of their cardigan. A little black blob, Trypophobia, formed near their waist and attempted to console them. “He just said he didn't want to go, a-and he told me to go to Hell— which is great!” Oz hastily added when they saw anger flash across the group’s expressions, “H-He wants to do that  _ instead  _ of prom, but you all know how much this means to me! I'm, well… I-I'm worried that… We’ll miss something amazing, not just because it's prom, but it's the one chance  _ we  _ can go to prom _. _ I-If that, ah, makes any sense.”

Silence hung over the squad. Brian, Vicky, and Amira kept sharing looks between them, until finally, Brian spoke.

“We understand. It's pretty tough to date a guy like Damien.”

Vicky chimed in, “He's like an ogre, or an onion! He's got layers. Maybe you’re the Fiona to his Shrek?”

“Vicky, please.” Oz facepalmed, but couldn't hide their joyful expression. “Never,  _ ever  _ say that again.”

Amira sighed. “What Vicky means to say is—”

“Actually, what Vicky  _ memes _ to say—”

“ _ Please  _ shut the fuck up.” Oz and Brian barely hid chuckles, while Vicky grinned mischievously. Amira continued, “Damien is a grade A jackass, but he makes you happy, Oz, and that's awesome! If he cares about you, which he  _ does,  _ he'll say yes when you ask him!” Amira clapped a hand on Oz’s shoulder, careful to avoid squishing Api. “We  _ hate _ seeing you so worked up about this,” she smiled wide and gave them a thumbs up, “so we're gonna bag you some demon dick for prom, or die trying!!”

“Die  _ again  _ trying _ , _ ” Brian clarified for him and Vicky.

Oz mouthlessly smiled at their friends. Ever since their days at Spooky Intermediate, Oz and their friends always had each other’s backs. From battling bullies to trading Pokémans to committing light treason, the fantastic foursome survived through thick and thin. Like all friends, they had their disagreements—Oz stood firm by pronouncing .gif like “jif”—but none drastic enough to split apart their group. It was good to have a constant in the whirlwind of hormones that was high school; it kept Oz grounded and eased their anxiety. They owed it all to a zombie, a djinn, and Frankenstein’s monster’s 18th cousin.

“Okay,” Oz cleared their throat, “I’ll ask him. Um, how did you guys do it?”

Amira spoke first and spoke fast. “Polly and I went to like, 50 parties, and I finally asked her when she was sober enough to say yes.”

“Scott was  _ super  _ easy to ask!” Vicky gushed. “We were at a Wolfpack party—which was fucking  _ amazing _ , by the way—and I made a bet that if Scott beat me at pool, he could take me to prom. I lost,” she winked, “ _ deliberately. _ ”

“You both had it easy,” Brian groaned, and shifted his focus to Oz, “Convincing Liam to go to prom was the single hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life. Er, afterlife.” He scratched absentmindedly at a decaying bit of skin on his neck. “I had to drop little hints about it, between alternative-music-listening sessions, criticizing everyone else’s fashion, and writing controversial Tomb-blr posts about unethical organ donations. Not gonna lie, it was pretty fun. After a few weeks of subliminal messaging, I wrote a 10-page thesis asking him to prom, and explaining why he should say yes.” Brian smiled to himself, and shot a glance to the front of the classroom,  towards the very vampire he was talking about. “Liam called it ‘a defiance of the societal norms set for promposals,’ then he agreed to go with me.”

Oz blinked. “I'm not writing a fucking  _ essay,  _ Brian.”

Brian’s face flushed in embarrassment, which Oz found a little weird, since he was, in fact, dead; one would assume Brian’s blood didn't pump anymore, and yet, here we are. In a school full of dimension-hopping blue dudes and people taking minor gods of chaos out for dinner, Oz watched their undead friend blush and found  _ that  _ the strangest phenomenon.

“Liam liked it.  _ That's  _ how you ask Damien, you play to what he likes.”

“So you  _ are  _ gonna blow the school up!!” Vicky squealed with otherwise disturbing excitement. “Ooh! Make it like that special arson you two do! Sing ‘Meant To Be Yours’ while the school burns down!!!”

Oz seriously considered the idea and was about to look the lyrics up, but Amira stopped them. “You're forgetting something, if the school burns down,  _ there's no fucking prom! _ ”

“Shit, you're right,” Oz muttered. Arson was a good idea, though: a trademarked Classic Damien Crime. Arson was a crime of passion, and like ogres and onions, it had plenty of layers of symbolism. With effort, Oz could turn Damien’s favorite pastime into a romantic, prom-worthy  gesture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> congratulations I updated


	3. Keep It Crispy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the THRILLING conclusion!

A heated hand worked its way up Oz’s shirt. Pressed to the side of the stall, Damien gripped Oz’s backside, and pulled them even closer. The fearling held fast to the open ends of their boyfriend's jacket. Having formed a mouth specifically for this, Oz opened it wider, to let Damien explore with his stupidly long tongue. Fortunately, Oz formed a stupidly  _ longer  _ tongue, and copied Damien’s motions. The demon huffed a small moan and nearly clawed holes in Oz’s clothes as they continued to make out.

Finally, during a break for air, Oz built up enough courage to ask Damien, “Are you doing anything after class?”

“Hopefully you,” he teased with a toothy smirk. Oz’s cheeks flushed.

“No, I-I mean,” they gulped, and tried again, “I planned dinner for us. On the roof of the school.”

Damien scoffed. “And?”

“There's a bank a few blocks down, I figured we could swing by and rob it, first.”

“Gotta admit, that's pretty fucking vanilla of you.”

“Damien, I grilled souls of the damned! I had to learn how to  _ grill  _ a  _ soul!” _

“It's not hard to grill a soul, Oz, I've been doing that shit since I was nine!”

“Baby,  _ please. _ ” Oz moved a hand from Damien’s jacket to cup his cheek. “Let me treat you to a date, I swear you'll have fun.”

With an over-exaggerated eyeroll, Damien smiled. “You better be a damn good cook, Ozzie.”

“So… yes?”

“It's a date.”

 

Later that evening, Damien joined Oz on the iconic roof of Spooky High, arms full of cash from their recreational heist. Together, they set up a blanket and a traditional picnic basket, then beat up some loitering harpies for more privacy. Oz laid their meal out before them: a platter of grilled souls, as promised; a bottle of Sham-Pain Brand™ Champagne; the severed fingers of a police ogre, charred to perfection; a tupperware filled with a chunky substance better left to the imagination; assorted apple slices.

Damien munched on an ogre finger and lovingly punched Oz’s shoulder. Pyro squeaked in surprise.

“This is  _ awesome! _ ” he exclaimed, “How much Boo’d Network did you watch to make this?”

“I can quote the antichrist’s intro for Diners, Decapitations, and Deaths, word for word,” Oz teased, the corners of their eyes turned up. They earned a chuckle from their boyfriend.

Together, Oz and Damien ate and made small talk, all while watching the sun set. Just as the last hints of golden light faded behind the distant houses, the fearling’s phone buzzed and lit up. They shifted away from their position next to Damien to answer the groupchat.

 

**Dead Girl Walking™:** All set here!! Good luck!!

**lavagirl:** BLOW THAT SHIT UUUUUUP!

**Yikes! In the Yard:** Thanks guys!

**zombae:** hey uh

**zombae:** can we

**zombae:** GET OUT OF THE FUCKING BLAST ZONE FIRST

 

In one swift motion, Oz shut their phone off, sprang up, and pulled Damien up with them. Well, they tried. Damien just got his arm yanked, and let out a flurry of confused swears before Oz apologized.

“Damien, babe, I just want to show you something!” Oz explained as their disgruntled boyfriend stood next to them. “You'll love it, I promise.”

“It better be worth dislocating my fucking arm!” Damien growled to himself.

Oz took a deep breath, and exhaled. With one hand, they gently held Damien’s, while the other reached around to their back pocket. “Damien, hanging out with you is amazing. You help bring out my confidence, and boldness! So, uh, instead of just telling you, I wanted to show you how much you mean to me.” Oz now brandished a small remote with a big red button in the center. They looked at Damien, who sported a curious expression, his cheeks tinted pink; he gave Oz all the courage they needed to push the button.

Seconds later, fiery explosions lit up the dark sky. Damien instantly whipped around to focus on the destruction, several miles away, but perfectly clear from the vantage point on the roof. Oz tossed the remote aside and took a sip of Sham-Pain as Damien’s jaw dropped.

“Did— Was— Oz, did  _ you  _ do that!?” The demon’s eyes shone with adoration, but Oz quickly shushed him, and pointed back to the explosions.

“The world is a canvas,” Oz softly commented, “and fire, my ink.” Pyro popped up, briefly, and nudged Oz, as if to say,  _'That shit was poetic as FUCK!'_

The activity had died down, but flames still roared high above the surrounding rooftops. Amid all the screams and cries for help, Damien found a message written across the smoldering foundations:

_ PROM? _

At first, Damien said nothing. He stared at Oz in an odd mix of pride, confusion, and anger. Then again, he always looked angry. Then, as if something clicked in his head, Damien held Oz’s shoulders in a death grip, and addressed him with a snarl.

“It took you  _ this  _ fucking long to ask me to prom!?”

“I—” Oz paused upon a realization. “Wait, have you wanted to go this entire time?!? Why the hell didn't you say anything?”

“Rejection’s a form of torture! You think I'd let myself go through that?”

“ _ Really?  _ You thought…” Oz’s tone softened, “you thought I would say no?”

Damien pushed them away and looked off into the fiery distance. He didn't answer, but his reaction told Oz everything they needed to know.

“Oh… I'm sorry, maybe, I, um… I should've said something. Before all this.”

With a sigh, the demon shrugged. “It's not your fault. It's all over, now.”

An awkward silence hung heavily between them. Carefully, Oz inched forward, until they could tug at Damien’s jacket sleeve. His tail twitched, and he glanced over.

“So… Prom?”

Damien’s gaze switched between the flickering flames and Oz’s blank eyes. How two stark-white ovals on a face could offer so much emotion, even in the moment right now, astonished Damien. He flashed that signature smirk of his, before he grabbed the sides of Oz’s face. Damien kissed them, and fueled that kiss with as much fire and passion and care that he possibly could. As he moved his hand to tenderly trace each curve and crevice of the fearling’s head and neck, Damien hoped with all his heart that Oz knew: he was smitten, head-over-heels in love with them.

And yes, they'd be going to prom. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge props to my buddy Abby for beta-reading! I have like two more chapters for this so stay tuned... I swear I'll update... This won't end up like Dolls and Doors...


End file.
